Paler by Comparison
by TheAcidAngel
Summary: Sure, Eventually he met Bella and the rest was history, so to speak. But Edward was 17 when his mother died and the doctor who couldn't save her changed his life forever. How does he deal with it? Snapshots from Edward's life before Bella.
1. Slow Burn

**So I was rereading the saga (I don't even want to talk about how many times this is now), and I started wondering what Edward's life was like before Twilight. Of course, the natural place to start seemed to be with his change. I think he got shortchanged on the backstory (well, I think several Cullens did, actually), and I thoroughly enjoy writing from Edward's POV. **

**I don't know how long this fic will be. If I only tell this one story from E's life, then it will be at least one or two more chapters, but your response to it might mean I extend it. Anyway, I'll let you get on with it. Meet me on the flip side. **

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For a long time, all I felt was pain. I wasn't entirely certain of where I was. The doctor was here. He had spoken to me frequently the last few days. The doctor, he told me that my mother succumbed to the disease. The reason I had been in the hospital too. He seemed almost always to be in the room. Watching my progress. Still expecting me to die, I supposed.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, of course. If I had to die at 17, I hoped it would be in The War, fighting the enemies of my country. But I looked to young to enlist early.

And that wasn't going to happen now anyway.

The doctor had been saying unfathomable things. I didn't take him for superstitious this way. It was one thing, perhaps, to believe in spirits, but he'd been talking about strange creatures—vampires— as though that was typical dinner conversation. He even talked about these things in the same sentence as God, as though it wasn't perfectly profane of him. At least he seemed concerned about God's forgiveness. He prayed almost constantly that God would forgive him for whatever it was he'd done.

What was more unfathomable though was when he said I wasn't going to die. But, I guess, what would he tell a 17 year old recent orphan whose own mother just died of this disease? He had to lie to me.

My memories from just a week before seemed fuzzy, but I thought the doctor was calmer then. More guarded, perhaps?

That was what made me think that he expected me to die. He seemed to be hiding none of his thoughts from me now. He just said everything aloud. He had started talking far too much. My only serenity was that his voice was quite calming. He'd have to be a good doctor, with a voice like that.

I hadn't opened my eyes in a while. For so long, the pain was too much. It was all I could do to hold back the screaming. I cried for some time in front of him. I'd managed to stop a while ago, but I was still ashamed that he was there for such a weak moment of mine. Some soldier I would have been.

At least the pain seemed to have gone now. As suddenly, in fact, as it began. It hadn't lessened the last time I gauged it, but now, it seemed to have disappeared entirely. Odd. Maybe I wasn't going to die after all.

Or I already had.

I heard someone walk into the room. I thought, if I'm alive, I suppose it's the doctor and if not, perhaps it's Saint Peter.

"I wonder how the patient is doing today," the doctor said, as though I wasn't here to answer. Mind, I hadn't spoken to him in days, so I suppose he'd grown tired of speaking to me without reply. He'd been such a brick* so far, it was all I could do to start responding, now that I wasn't in pain.

"Better. It doesn't hurt so much now." I opened my eyes, looking toward where I heard him a moment ago, but all I could see was the door, closed.

The entire house sounded still. Did I imagine him then? Dream he was here while I was delirious with pain?

I could have sworn he'd just spoken.

Then I heard swift, soft footfalls and the door swung open to reveal the doctor, as I remembered him, but he seemed to be in sharper focus. Keeping my eyes closed for so long must have made my vision seem more brilliant by comparison.

"Did you say something?"

I didn't know how he could have heard me from the other room. And then I must have been responding to a question that wasn't even posed to me. How could I have heard him speak from the other room either? The walls must be thinner than normal. Strange.

"I did," I responded, hoping he would forgive any disrespect at my casual tone. "I'm sorry. I must have dreamt that you asked me a question. I could have sworn I heard you ask how 'the patient' was doing today, and I'm feeling much better, so I said as much."

I heard him say "How could...I didn't say..." but his mouth never moved. He must be able to throw his voice, I thought. How curious that I never noticed it or that he'd never done it in front of me before.

"How are you doing that?" I asked, sitting up. The movement felt strange. I must have sat up too fast.

"Doing what?" This time his mouth moved just as anyone else's would.

"A moment ago, you threw your voice? Your mouth never moved."

"What is he talking about? Is it possible that the change has done something to his mind? Oh God, I pray forgiveness for what I've done to this boy." His mouth wasn't moving, but before he could much continue his prayer, I cut him off.

"There! That! How are you doing that? Your throat doesn't even move. I've never seen anything like it."

"You can hear this?" Again, his mouth didn't move.

"Of course I can hear it. I'm not deaf. Did you think the fever had damaged my ears?"

"Edward," his mouth moved now. "I didn't say that out loud."

He closed his mouth and added "I only thought it."

"What on earth do you mean you only thought it? I heard it just the same as when your mouth moves. Your voice is exactly the same. I only want to know how you're doing it. You could probably perform that in the theatres and make quite a load of pocket money for it. I'm certain people would pay. It's impressive."

"Edward," this time his mouth was still as he said my name. "I swear to you, I'm not speaking out loud now. How can I prove it?" he said, almost as if to himself. "I could take him out...but no, of course, I can't take him out. He'll kill someone."

"Me?" I asked incredulously. "How would I kill someone? Unless...oh, I see. You think I can make others sick like I've been? But honestly, I'm feeling much better. My throat's only a little sore now." And truthfully, it was. I hadn't noticed it at first, but it was. When I thought on it, it flared painfully.

"No, you can't make others sick, Edward. Actually, that sore throat is what I mean though. Remember what I've told you the last few days? That you're...you were...you have changed into something else. I saved you—_God forgive me, by killing you_—from certain death, but in the process, your body had to change a little. Did you ever learn about vampires, Edward?" His mouth moved most of the time, though not when he spoke of killing me. Incomprehensible. But I thought I understood now. I hadn't lost my mind, but he'd certainly lost his. I would humour him, I supposed. Probably safer that way.

"Yes, I've heard about vampires before, and I remember you talking about them a little."

"What do you know about them, then?"

"Well," I considered for a moment. I had to think hard to remember anything. When I was young, before father died, the family had been well enough off that I'd gone to a rather nice academy for several years. I'd learned to read—English, Latin and French, of course—but I'd been terrible at Latin. I'd read a book about vampires once...boring business, that.

"They're dead. So they're cold. And they are only around at night. And they drink blood." As I said the last word, my throat felt like it caught fire, and I thought certainly I would cough and sputter, but I didn't. Maybe I should be resting my throat, not talking so much, I thought.

My face must have shown that I felt pain though because the doctor's face became sympathetic.

"Poor boy. You must be in pain now. We've got to wait a little longer before I can risk taking you out somewhere. But Edward, first, you've got to start understanding this. I can't prove it to you without risking lives, but Edward, your throat hurts when you think about blood because you crave it."

I'm sure my face turned green. Now he was just getting vulgar and I felt perhaps that I could actually be in danger from him. I'd thought him a benevolent doctor, but maybe it was all an act.

I was no longer in the hospital. This must be his home. What sort of doctor brings a dying 17-year-old orphan to his home? I didn't like any of the answers I could imagine. A fiend, a grifter, or at best, maybe he was on a bash*. I get sick and end up infirmed, only to wind up with a loon. Maybe that was just my luck.

"Look, doc. I don't know what you're playing at. I don't know much about blood, but I've never cared for it. Nevermind that anytime I've seen it, it's probably been my own bloody nose from getting popped by some schoolyard kid. I sure don't 'crave' it for anything." But just as he said, my throat stung now, thinking about blood. He'd put the stupid idea there and now I couldn't ignore it.

"Edward, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise, I'm no threat to you." He held his hands up like he was afraid of me. Sure, I was a little taller than him, but I wasn't exactly filled out yet. I'd lost just about every fist fight I'd ever been in. And Doctor Cullen was pretty young, not some geezer who wouldn't be able to throw a punch.

"What makes you think I'm scared of you anyway?" But as I said it, I realized I was crouching slightly, unconsciously ready to throw myself at him if I had to. I straightened.

"That," his mouth didn't move.

"Fine. You're no threat. But there's something not quite right going on here. I don't feel like me. And you with that weird talking you're doing. And what is that awful humming sound?"

"Humming? I don't hear a thing. Describe it to me."

"That...I don't know...it's a hum. Droning. Like...one summer I was out on the countryside and we saw a beehive and it sounded sort of like this."

"Focus on it. Can you pick out anything specific about it?"

I listened, closing my eyes to shut out everything else.

It was just a buzzing, buzzing. And then I caught a snip of words. First it was like a conversation was happening too close to the humming, so I could only hear the occasional word. Then I caught some that weren't English. And I started to split the sounds off in my mind as I made sense of them. And suddenly it was two conversations over the hum, then three, then five, then a dozen.

The entire humming was made of voices. Like the buzz in a theatre before the show, or church after everyone stood at the end to talk to other parishioners. Dozens, maybe hundreds of voices. But there was no one in sight.

I opened my eyes and the doctor was watching me intently.

"It sounds like voices," I whispered, feeling horrified all of a sudden. There was no way I could be hearing that. There couldn't be a hundred people in the front room and I couldn't be hearing them any further away than that. I'd lost my mind after all.

"Like hundreds of voices. Overlapping. I couldn't even make sense that they were voices, but they are."

"That must be this talent he's got. Hearing thoughts outside. Every person in the streets, he can hear them thinking."

"I'm right here; you don't have to talk about me like I'm not." I paused then, considering how out of turn I'd spoken. The doctor didn't really deserve my nastiness. "I'm sorry doctor Cullen. That was disrespectful of me. I just don't understand. It's like you're talking to someone else, but I'm the only one here."

"Edward, grasp this, please. I was thinking that. To myself. Not out loud."

Impossible. But...I couldn't explain any of this any other way. I would figure it out eventually. Best, maybe, to think about other things instead.

I asked the doctor about my mother. I found if I was focused on something else, the hum dropped away, low and easy to ignore if not forget.

We spoke about a number of things for the next few hours. He explained my mother's passing, that this influenza thing was killing off half the city. The fact that I was alive seemed more and more improbable.

I still didn't know what time it might have been when Doctor Cullen stood and said it was time for us to go out.

He strode to the door and we stepped out into the night. It was totally dark, probably after midnight, and snow drifted down softly. I realized with a start that neither of us wore a jacket.

"It's cold out." I said, feeling rather stupid for saying it.

"But you don't feel it, do you?"

It dawned slowly, but he was right. I wasn't cold at all, or uncomfortable, despite the humid chill I knew was there. This was Chicago, after all, in November.

"No. I don't."

I knew, then, that he was right. I wasn't what I'd been. I couldn't be. I walked slowly, feeling out of place, trying not to think about it. I could smell just the faintest scent in the air here. Something edible. It didn't smell like a food I could remember having tasted, but I felt instinctively that I would find it delicious.

The doctor put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me along, walking quickly. He kept his hand curled tight around my upper arm, as if I might make a break for it.

He lived near the edge of the city and pulled me along side streets as they thinned, until we were walking into forested areas.

"Time to run, Edward. Follow me. Try holding your breath and run. Just trust me, please?"

His face was sincere. I had no choice but to trust him now. He was the only person who might be able to give me answers.

He took off, running faster than a person could possibly run. I'd never catch up. But I had to trust him.

I took a deep breath and started running.

And suddenly trees were moving past me much faster than was possible. It was exhilarating. I ran, silent and graceful, avoiding trees without any concern.

I'd never felt so alive. I'd had a bicycle when I was a little younger, and though I'd thought it was pretty grand riding around with the wind through my hair, this was so much better. I felt like I had to be going almost as fast as I could on my bicycle, but I was able to jump over fallen trees and rocks where my bicycle never could have gone.

"Edward, come back!"

I stopped immediately. It was Doctor Cullen.

"Come back." His disembodied voice floated through the woods. I ran in the direction it came from. Without having to think about it, I ran precisely to him, as though I knew exactly where he would be.

"Boy, you're fast Edward. You make me feel like a slow old man." He laughed.

I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing, but shook some drops of water from my hair, gathered from the humid air and dew collected on trees.

"I thought we were running somewhere, but we only ran for a second. I can slow down if you want me to."

"No, we're here. As I said Edward, you're fast. We're several miles outside the city now."

Again, another fact that was impossible, but I had no choice now but to accept it. The evening was starting to feel like maybe a dream that would end soon. Perhaps if I just gave up on fighting against it, I would wake sooner. With any luck, in my own bed, and my mother would be making breakfast in the kitchen because neither of us ever got sick in the first place.

"Edward, focus." Doctor Cullen's voice forced me to drop the thoughts of my mother and live this dream night. "Listen to the forest here, smell the air, taste it. What do you feel?"

As I breathed in the air here, I realized why it felt foreign. I hadn't breathed once since he told me not to. I forced the thought away.

Sampling the air, I noted an earthy scent. It was more than just the smell of the leaves below my feet, the trees, the dirt. It was...warmer. Thick. I wanted to know where it was coming from.

My feet started to move beneath me and I stilled them, not sure what the doctor wanted from me.

"Doctor Cullen, I—"

"Edward, call me Carlisle, please?"

Well, if I was going along with the rest of this dream, I might as well call him by his Christian name. It had to be less strange than the rest of it all.

"Carlisle then. I smell something...warm. I want...What is it?"

"Go find out."

I looked at him and he nodded, saying "Go on, trust it," without moving his mouth.

I closed my eyes again, focusing in on the scent, singling it out from everything else in the forest. I wouldn't even have realized I was moving, but I opened my eyes, searching for the origin of the scent. My feet were moving in complete silence. I didn't even have to consider where I would place my foot to keep quiet, it was just there already as my other foot propelled me further forward.

I heard it before I actually saw it. Just a quick snapped twig in the forest ahead and instinctively I crouched, completely still on the balls of my feet. I could see it now if I looked; a large shape moving in the trees. A deer, male, big for its species. I'd never been this close to one, but I knew these things. I knew that it did not know I was watching it yet. I knew that it didn't sense any danger.

And I knew that's what I was to it: Dangerous.

It bowed its head, grazing and I could not stop the response in my body. I sprang forward, reaching its back in less than a second, landing lightly with my hands around its throat. My face was pressed to its neck before I could even consider what was happening, and then the scent was filling my throat and nose, soothing the ache that had intensified dramatically. It was like I hadn't drank in days and this animal, its blood—I shuddered slightly, thinking this as I drank—its blood was the water my body needed desperately. More than air, food, or any other thing, this was my need now.

When I pulled in through my mouth again and nothing came, I dropped the animal quickly. Suddenly, I was able to feel the horror at what had just happened. What had I just done? It was impossible, but it had happened.

With a shiver, terror gripped me hard. This was not a dream. This was really happening.

And perversely, as my human mind pushed away, screeching protest at what I had just done, my body was singing with the blood in my system. I could not deny the immediate relief I felt.

"Edward," Carlisle was standing beside a tree some ten feet away. "Surely you believe me now? You couldn't still doubt the truth of my words, could you?"

I warred internally with disgust and elation.

"No. I can't doubt you now."

"Edward, I didn't know how else to...how else to show you, how else to save you. I couldn't watch you die as I watched so many others. I don't know why you. I've been on my own for so many years, and I've never done this. I'd considered it, but I just didn't want to damn someone else to this life. I'm sorry. Half of me will never forgive me for what I've done to you."

"Then why did you do it?" I couldn't understand. He was saying this, but it was as if I could feel a hundred different things with the words he spoke.

"I don't know. I'd like to say I couldn't watch you die...that I saw too much potential life in you and that it just seemed to cruel to let you slip away from something I really think the human race will one day conquer.

"But I know that's not the only reason. Your mother was one of the most compelling individuals I've ever met. She begged me to find any way to keep you alive. I think she knew I wasn't like the other doctors. She was so...perceptive.

"And it was selfish, Edward, I must admit that too. I wanted, just once, to be able to share with someone. Please know that you would have died. I wouldn't have done this if there were even the smallest chance you would have survived. When I bit you, your mind was already damaged badly from the fever. I could hear your heart skipping and stuttering. You were going to die, it was only a matter of minutes. I didn't know what else to do. Please, I hope that given time you can forgive me."

He was silent. I didn't know what to say. I felt utter, hopeless sincerity in his words. I had absolutely no doubt of anything he said. Part of me felt anger well up at what he'd done to me, but I also felt the rush still of the fresh blood. I imagined this was what it must be to enter the opium dens. I'd heard people talk of them reverently, as though they'd seen the face of God in the smoke there. This had to be the rush, the heat and softness and blinding glory they felt. Or maybe this was better.

"It felt so...right. So good," I whispered. "I've never even been hunting before, but this was...perfect."

"As if you were made expressly to kill and drink. You are, Edward. We are. But now, I must explain the most difficult part to you."

He sighed, and as if he was whispering, though his mouth didn't move, I heard him begging God's forgiveness again.

"Edward, as perfect as that felt, there is something out there that will make that pale in comparison. And if you are to stay with me, and be in society at all, you must never, ever have it."

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**A few notes on my slang usage. I tried to be accurate to the time period (Between 1901 and 1918, as we all know), which means a few of the terms aren't familiar nowadays. I starred a couple that I thought you might not get. Hopefully any other ones are clear from context (but if you want to ask, just hit that little review button! Or even if you don't have a question, do it anyway!)**

_*to call someone a 'brick' meant they were a good person. Modern equivalent; saint, nice guy (I can't think of a specific, masculine term that gets used this way, to be honest!)_

_*'on a bash' was slang for being drunk. Modern equivalents; on a bender, wasted._

**So...What do you think? Please, please review. As you can see, this is my first attempt at multi-chaptered fic, so I really will thrive on your reviews. They are the best motivating force in the universe.**

**I'm also going to steal a cue from a few of my favoritest fics and ask a question to get you talking, even if you have nothing to say about the chapter. Ready? **

_Have you ever had a dream that you couldn't believe wasn't real when you woke? Or vice versa, have you ever really thought you were dreaming when you were actually awake?_


	2. Test Fire

**A note to begin this chapter: attitudes were different a hundred years ago. Remember that we live in a more global world that people did in 1918. Edward wanted to be a soldier and would have had certain beliefs about the value of American life over others. **

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**Chapter 2: Test Fire**

It was time.

Carlisle thought I was ready, though his thoughts still harboured small, nagging doubts. In truth, I was almost certain I **wasn't **ready.

The plan had been quite simple, really, but now that the true test was upon me, it didn't seem like it had been enough.

It had been almost a year since that first night. After I drank my first deer, Carlisle had begun to explain his life to me. The life I was just beginning then.

"_There is something out there that will make that pale in comparison. And if you are to stay with me, and be in society at all, you must never, ever have it."_

_I just shook my head, not yet comprehending how something could be better than the blood rush racing through my veins. I'd never experienced anything so intense._

"_Humans." He went perfectly still then, waiting on my response. _

_Again, I was conflicted, torn between a completely human desire to ignore his words, deny them completely, pretend I did not follow, and a completely new desire that I felt when his words conjured an image in my mind of a square crowded with jostling bodies, packed like tinned fish. _

"_People, Edward. Never forget that."_

He had explained then his own entrance into this life. The God-fearing son, so concerned with evil that he nearly missed its presence right in front of him.

And he described that his upbringing, the morals and values he could not shed even when his heart stopped, had led him to make a choice quite different from others of...our kind.

Humans, he explained, were our natural prey. They were the thing that was most desirable to us, the hardest to avoid. Most didn't try. Many revelled in the new strength and speed, treating their lofty abilities as reason to play God. Most were not discriminate in who they killed, only caring that they weren't exposed. He explained how that was imperative to remain alive, if indeed that's what vampires were.

Carlisle had also always believed that every human life was sacred. Killing without reason went completely against his moral fibre. It was counter to everything he believed in. He'd suffered for as long as he could manage before discovering that animal blood was in fact a reasonable, if less seductive, substitute so that was how he lived.

Eventually he'd conquered his bloodlust to a point where he could be around people, until now he barely even felt that he was missing anything.

"And you'll be able to do the same. If you choose to," he'd added reluctantly. "I knew before I did this to you that you might prefer the more traditional diet. That you might not want to deny the instinct. I just need you to know that I wouldn't move to stop you if you chose that, though I would ask you not to hunt near my home, as I ask any other nomads to do when they come. I cannot change your feelings on the subject, so if you decide that my lifestyle is too great a sacrifice, I will sorely miss the anticipated friendship between us, but I will not begrudge you by any means."

"I don't want to kill people, Carlisle. I mean, like I said, I've never even been hunting. I wanted to be a soldier, but I just can't imagine killing Americans. That's something else. That's murder."

"While I'm truly glad to hear you feel that way Edward, this isn't a decision you can make now. I'd like to try sort of desensitizing you. I think if I expose you to the scent of humans in a controlled environment for some time, it will be easier for you to check your reaction when you encounter the real thing."

"But I don't understand. I've already said I don't want to kill people. I don't want to, so I simply won't." I was getting frustrated, though a small part of my mind knew I had no reason to be angry with Carlisle.

"Edward, did you want to kill that deer?"

"Well no. But I didn't even know I was doing it until it was done. I..."

Carlisle didn't say anything out loud, but his thoughts were clear. _Exactly_.

So the plan had been set that night. But there were several things to be worked out first.

For starters, Carlisle and I could not stay in Chicago. I was supposed to be dead. No one knew he'd taken my supposedly lifeless body from the hospital, but it was better to avoid suspicion, it seemed.

I couldn't bring anything with me. Being dead and all, I couldn't really walk into my old home and gather my things, but with my parents gone, I didn't feel there was much I'd miss. Carlisle left many of his belongings in Chicago. He told me he actually had several homes he had done this with because he could return to them in about 70 years when he would no longer be remembered by anyone.

I had to stay indoors while he readied everything. I was too much of a risk. I spent my days studying my other recent change; my strange new ability that was novel even to Carlisle. Though he'd seen talents that he had described as quite supernatural in his time, he'd only ever met one mind reader before, a man named Aro who he described as something of a king among vampires, and that Aro needed direct contact to read the thoughts of a person.

Carlisle's hypothesis for my talent was that my ability to read thoughts was related to distance, and I had a range, much like hearing spoken words, where I could hear thoughts with perfect clarity. It was still disconcerting when I heard Carlisle speaking clearly one thing, but thinking rather another. In turn, he was learning that it was no use lying to me about anything. I suppose it was lucky for both of us that his thoughts were almost unerringly kind.

When Carlisle was gone during the day, I would listen to conversations out on the street. I would sit in the back room far away from windows where I might be able to actually see or smell the humans, because Carlisle had indeed proven his point well. If I loused up, I'd probably kill someone before I even knew I'd moved. Carlisle said it was an unconscious predator thing—that I shouldn't feel guilty for something that hadn't even happened yet—but I felt odd nonetheless.

Anyway, the conversations I heard rarely meant much to me. I would try to follow one 'voice' for as long as I could before it grew too faint. It was rather like hearing one side of a telephone call because I didn't know which voice was the response unless it was quiet out. At night, I could sometimes connect both sides, if the streets were empty enough.

Most people talked about this influenza thing. It was still killing dozens. Some were afraid America would be decimated. Others thought the government health messages were baloney and that it was probably some sort of conspiracy.

It didn't much matter to me now, I supposed.

Carlisle had everything in order within a week. One long week. Now every day really was 24 hours long. I couldn't sleep. I'd waited and waited to begin feeling some sort of fatigue, but my body never felt it. My mind didn't feel it the same way either. I hadn't felt the weariness that I was used to after a long day learning something new. I just missed being able to lose hours in unconsciousness. It would have been nice.

At the end of the week, Carlisle said it was time for us to leave. We waited until the middle of the night, since it was the only safe time for me to be out and Carlisle asked me to hold my breath, now that I didn't actually need it to live, to make it easier for us.

After hours of running with a large pack on my back, I still wasn't tired. It was odd, not feeling any of it. It didn't surprise me now, how I could have thought I was dreaming that first night. It lent a surreal quality to everything when your mind and body no longer reacted the way they always had.

By the time the sun was on the horizon, Carlisle said we were there. He told me we were somewhere near the Canadian border, well outside of any cities. The house we came to stood alone in the woods, large but not intimidating. Nicer than the place my mother and I had kept, certainly.

Some of Carlisle's things were already there. He'd shipped them and paid quite well to have them delivered so quickly and placed inside the house without anyone there to receive them. Between us, it was only an hour or so before the house looked as if it had been furnished all along.

"Edward?" Carlisle had asked. "I wanted to talk with you about a few things now that we're here."

I'd nodded assent and sat like an obedient child in the front room.

"We will have to have a story and, while you won't be seeing anyone until you're ready, I thought it best to get it straight now. I think it best to say that you're my younger brother, and perhaps to use a little of the truth, we'll say our parents died in the influenza outbreak in Chicago and sent us away to keep us from getting sick? We have to make certain it's believable. I think for the time being that will be the easiest for us to maintain." _Brother makes more sense than son anyway. And I can't ask him to pretend to be my son, not yet._

I decided the simplest course was to act as though I hadn't heard his following thoughts. In truth, I wasn't yet ready to pretend to be his son either, so I simply nodded.

"I'll be travelling into Seattle to work at the hospital. My medical degrees all say Carlisle Cullen, so if it's alright, for now at least, it's probably easiest if you go by Edward Cullen instead of Masen."

When I nodded again, he continued.

"Now, I'd like to start getting you used to human scent right away, if you agree. Tomorrow, when I come back from the city, I'll bring some things home for you. It won't be easy for you...well, we can talk about it tomorrow when I get back, I suppose. Why don't we go hunt now? The woods here are much better for predators than we had in Chicago."

"Predators? What do you mean?"

"You'll understand when you smell them. Deer are ok, but...well, I think perhaps because humans are essentially predators, it's more natural for us to go for bears and the like. Come on. Like I said, you'll understand."

We went out into the woods. By this point, I'd become fairly accustomed to holding my breath when we travelled, though it set off alarm bells in my head that I could only make sense of because Carlisle had explained; we instinctively used scent to identify potential dangers, and without it, my body tensed automatically.

Deep in the forest, Carlisle stopped and turned to me.

"Smell that?" He cocked his head to the right.

I inhaled deeply and immediately my throat burned. "Can I..."

"Go on," Carlisle said, as though indulging a young child asking to go play with his friends.

I sprang forward before he even finished speaking though. I'd only gone a few steps before I spotted the grey cat slinking through the woods. It had a short tail with a black tip, and its ears bore the same markings. It smelled infinitely more appetizing than the deer had. Salty and rich.

It was fairly small, no bigger than most pet dogs, and I'd drank from deer that were bigger than me, but none of them had the same fight instincts as this would. It still hadn't sensed me behind it, but I knew it would and it wouldn't likely be as passive as the deer had been. It wouldn't go down easy.

I felt myself coil like a spring and leap. The cat heard my jump and turned, letting out a sort of shocked growl and swiping once with its paw as I landed on it.

It managed to get one paw up on its shoulder where I was hanging on. I heard it tear through my shirt and then it sounded like its nails encountered stone, making a sort of scrabbling noise before its paw slipped off me.

By then, it was over anyway. I managed to get my face to its throat and I drank until it was dry.

"Well done." Carlisle was laughing a few feet away. "And you know what I was talking about before now, don't you?"

"It made the deer hardly seem like food at all. It got my shoulder though. I probably need stitches or something? It doesn't hurt really. I can't believe it doesn't hurt, but I know it got me."

I pulled at my shirt hanging in tatters down my chest. What was left of the front of my shirt was bloody, but still not as much as I might have thought. Inexplicably, Carlisle just laughed at my confused expression.

"You don't need stitches, Edward. I promise."

"Really? Its claws were quite formidable. It tore my shirt to shreds and I'm definitely bleeding from somewhere, though I can't feel it." I felt around my shoulder, but my hand came away the same as it had been; dirty, but not soaked with fresh blood like I expected.

"You're not bleeding. In fact, there are only a few things that can tear your skin now and lynx claws are not one of them. Didn't you hear when it hit you? It couldn't make any purchase in you."

"That scratching sound," I wondered aloud. I was really trying not to be surprised by these sorts of things now, but there were just too many things that were not to be believed. "That was my skin?"

"I know it's all a lot to take in."

"What can tear my skin?"

"Well, so far I only know of two things. One is another vampire. If another one wanted to hurt you, his teeth could certainly do it. The other...well..." _In bocca chiuse,* Carlisle. He doesn't need to hear it._

"Carlisle. Please. You can't keep things from me anyway."

"Well, it's nothing you should have to worry about, really. I've never heard of them living in America, but there are werewolves in Europe that can do it. The Volturi have been trying to eradicate them for years."

"Werewolves?" I shook my head. "What is that?"

"A werewolf is a person who changes into a wolf-like form by moonlight. Aro sometimes called them the children of the moon. It's a long-standing grudge. There are none here." _Except...No. They are not here. Not the same at all._ "Anyway, you needn't worry about it. It's ludicrously unlikely that we'd face any hostility here. Vampires here are rarely bothered by one another. Others I've encountered are often curious about the eye colour, but I've never had any trouble."

We walked back to the house slowly and he explained that my eyes would eventually begin to match his, which would also make it easier when I eventually came across humans again. He'd shown me my reflection only once since my change.

It had been perfectly bizarre. My face was still my face, but sharper. Under my cheekbones, my face seemed more hollowed, my jawline more pronounced, my nose straightened from where I'd had it broken three years ago at school. My teeth, which had always been alright if a little crooked, were suddenly perfectly white and straight, and Carlisle had laughed when I asked where my fangs were.

I'd only been to the pictures twice in my life, but I looked like the boys in the cinema. Handsome and winning, maybe a little older than 17 too. Even my body had sharpened, my chest carved, my limbs sinewy. I wasn't as big as I might have hoped, because I'd grown about 6 inches straight up just before my change, so I supposed I'd be a bit of a beanpole forever, but it could have been worse.

But the strangest change was certainly my eyes. I'd always had my mother's eyes, Irish green with yellow around the centre. When he'd shown me my face, my eyes were striking brilliant scarlet. It was the part of me that truly looked dangerous, predatorial.

At the house, Carlisle had started working almost immediately on hospital paperwork. He had things that had to be finished before he started in his new position tomorrow. I sat in the kitchen of the house with the lamps off, staring into the woods, watching small animals run through the night.

I couldn't stop thinking about my parents, my school friends, everything that I'd left in Chicago. Not the material things, really, though I missed my old room. I'd had a few pin-ups on the walls, and a dark blue coverlet. We'd lived in the apartment, mom and I, since dad had died two years ago, and I liked it well enough. The best part was being so high up. We were all the way on the sixth floor which meant I could look down over practically the whole city. There were only a few buildings taller in all of Chicago. I used to watch the city go dark at night, when I couldn't quite sleep yet.

But the sleeplessness then was nothing like this. I just couldn't get used to the idea that I'd never sleep again. I was restless, but my body was too still. I would realize that I hadn't so much as blinked or twitched a muscle in an hour, despite the overwhelming need to do something, anything, in my mind.

I had essentially been ignoring Carlisle's thoughts since we got back—numbers, details for charts, I wasn't interested and it wasn't for me anyway—so I didn't hear him behind me until he said my name aloud.

"Edward? Are you alright?"

I'd turned to him, my eyes furrowed as they had been for well over an hour.

"I just don't know what to do with myself. There are too many things to think about. I wish I could forget them for a time. I don't want to be thinking so much of my mother, but I've nothing else to do. How do you stand it?"

He'd sighed, several thoughts flitting through his mind quickly. "It eases. But it takes time. For one thing, your emotions are difficult to control shortly after being changed. And perhaps more importantly, our minds have different capabilities than before. Human minds are capable of thinking of perhaps two things at once. Even then, they aren't really devoting their minds to both at once. For me, at least, I've found I can devote my mind to maybe a dozen things without losing focus on even one of them. I suspect that part of your mind will always be devoted to thoughts of your mother, your life before. But you can distract yourself. For me, it's been the pursuit of knowledge. I was well-versed in scripture because of my father, but I've since found thousands of years worth of literature is a wonderful distraction. I've also learned all about the practise of medicine, of course, and several languages."

"Books? Really? And languages? That's how you distract yourself? I've never cared for books. I had to learn French and Latin at school. It's just so hopelessly dull."

"Let me ask you this, Edward: what were your goals? What did you want to be?"

"Well, I'd been hoping for a factory job. With my father gone, I know I've...well, I had to take care of my mother."

"Yes, but without any of that, what would you have wanted to be?"

"I wanted to be an officer. Army."

"What sort of officer?"

"I hadn't really thought it out. I wanted to help. We have to protect America. I figured it'd be several years yet before I'd be anything but a soldier. I guess I might have wanted to eventually be the one helping save our boys."

"Like a medical officer?"

"Maybe. Or finding ways to protect our trenches better. It's just such an awful shame how many are dying over there."

"Well, then why don't you start there? Start with medical textbooks and engineering. You're better equipped now to find a solution than most veterans, or any humans for that matter. Like I said, your mind now is capable of wonders you won't believe until you try."

So I'd began reading. With scepticism. Books in school had always pushed me to daydream, anything to avoid actually reading them.

But to my surprise, I did find it held my interest. Not completely, of course. Not so much I couldn't feel the sorrow of my loss or the conflicting and bizarre emotions that flew through me unprovoked. But enough that I didn't look up from the book before me until the sun began to rise above the horizon. One night down. An eternity to go.

Carlisle left for the day, giving me explicit instructions not to leave the house without him on the off chance of humans in the nearby woods. So I spent the day devouring another book, this one a thick volume on human anatomy.

I skipped the chapter about circulation. I'd found myself at the back door an instant after reading the phrase "The Human Circulatory System," ready to run as long as I had to before I came upon a city full of prey.

I'd had to spend an hour calming down then. All I could do was what Carlisle had said; remind myself that they were people, not 'humans' or 'prey.' I thought of my mother, her love for me, and how terrible it would be to let my disgusting urge destroy a bond like that between mother and son.

I'd heard Carlisle's thoughts before he actually reached the house. It must have been early evening by then.

_Edward, I'm nearly there and I'm going to smell quite strongly of humans. Do what you can not to go after me, or to run off. _

Ridiculous, I'd thought. I couldn't fathom that something could elicit that response from me when I wasn't being provoked. It wasn't as if he were bringing home a bleeding patient, ready to expire, begging me to finish him off. Though the thought of such a thing distracted me for a long moment, imagining how lovely a surprise that would be.

Carlisle had entered the house cautiously, hands raised slightly from his sides in a posture that my body interpreted before my mind could catch up as submissive. Like the first day after my change. He was being very careful not to provoke me.

"Edward, you're only delaying the inevitable. You've got to breathe."

I pulled in a lungful of air and felt my throat erupt into flames. A low growl escaped my chest as I tensed entirely and stopped breathing again. But the feeling did not really subside. The air in my lungs tasted of the human scent he carried and I felt I couldn't escape. I thought certainly I was going to burst spontaneously into fire if I didn't escape.

So I took the coward's route and ran out the back door, breathing in the smell of the woods as soon as I thought it would be safe from the smells Carlisle had brought with him.

A terrible first attempt.

Several minutes later, Carlisle had come out the back door wearing different clothing than he had been, his hair slick with water.

He'd called my name and I'd emerged from the shade. I'd never made it far from the house. Just far enough to escape the smell. The best compromise I could manage regarding his rules about not running into the forest without him.

"I'm sorry Carlisle." I cast my eyes down, unable to look at what would probably greet me.

"Edward, you've nothing to be sorry about. That was good. I know you might think this was some terrible loss of control, but really, that was quite the opposite. You denied your instinct to attack. And you didn't even immediately go out to hunt something else down. You merely got away from it. That's more than I could have expected."

"But I growled at you as though you were something to eat. And then I just totally gave up and ran away anyway. How do you stand that smell without just needing to..."

"It's not without difficulty. It took decades to get to this point for me. Denying every instinct in your body isn't simple, but nothing worth the effort ever is."

I didn't feel much comforted, but at least I could tell from his thoughts that he was sincere, not just placating me. I had done slightly better than he actually expected.

For the first week, just the lingering smell of human on him was enough to send me into the edge of the woods. By a month, I could stay in the room, though I still tensed and occasionally growled at him. After another few weeks, it seemed I could handle the smell of him without too much difficulty, so he began bringing home sheets and gowns he'd taken from the hospital laundry. The smell on them was much stronger, and it took several more weeks before I could handle the smell without tearing them to shreds.

When he began bringing dressings from the operating theatre home, it was back to square one. I very nearly tackled Carlisle on the first day. It was exhausting and I had to feed every night upon Carlisle's return, though he said that eventually I wouldn't need to feed every day.

Of course, there were other things I had to learn beyond handling my thirst as well. Reigning in my emotional responses was one. I was quickly frustrated by my own responses, and by Carlisle's ceaseless optimism. I snarled and stormed, and later apologized over and over, as though I was, well, a rebellious teenager. But Carlisle truly was saint-like, and even when I was at my most disagreeable, his thoughts were always accepting. He never once regretted changing me for his own sake, even though he occasionally wondered if it had been the right thing for him to do.

I also had to learn Carlisle's mannerisms. It was as if my 17 years of socialization meant nothing when presented with a body that was a hundred times stronger and could not feel fatigue. I had to actually remind myself to blink, to fidget my hands and feet, to sit rather than standing for hours on end. The artifice of it was irritating, but I knew Carlisle was right that if I was to be around humans, those small things would go a long way towards making my presence less disconcerting to them

And all that— almost 8 months of Carlisle bringing home the smell of humans, of forcing my new body not to react, of learning to channel my reflexes and control my mind's instinctive response, of having to give myself a million little commands to move and blink and breathe—it all had led me here, to this moment.

It was mid-morning on a Saturday in July, and Carlisle and I were walking through the woods towards Seattle. I could tell we were getting close because every once in a while I would catch words and phrases, the burble of mental chatter slowly increasing in volume.

It was time.

Time to test my control. I pushed back the small part of me that roared in triumph that humans would soon be well within my reach. That part was no longer dominant, but I couldn't entirely silence it. Mostly, I was filled with apprehension. What was the point in reentering human society when I was no longer human? It would be safer for humanity if I stayed away. But Carlisle said I had to try before I could choose my path. I couldn't commit to his way of life until I mingled with humans, but I simply couldn't see myself fitting into the other vampire world he'd described; nomadic, secretive, predatory, animalistic. It was too base. My parents had raised me to be civilized and the fact that they were gone just made it harder to imagine living so counter to their vision for me.

_Can you smell them yet, Edward?_ Carlisle thought. I'd become so familiar with Carlisle's voices, both interior and exterior, that I was able now recognize the subtle differences between them.

I nodded but didn't trust myself to open my mouth. I wanted to stop breathing, but I knew Carlisle would call me out on my cheat if I did. I had to face this entirely. This was my new challenge. I would never face American enemies in the trenches, but I could learn to live with my conflicting desires and instincts.

_Edward, I have every faith in you. Honestly, if you can so entirely suppress your reaction to clothing soaked in blood, you will be fine with a human. They don't smell as strong. Though, the heartbeat is quite something. But you'll be fine. Just remember our discussions. They are people with lives and relationships. Your desire to be human is greater than your desire to prey. I know it._

We had finally reached a roadway on the edge of the city and before I had time to consider, a girl, maybe 16 came around the corner from behind a building. She didn't see us until she was nearly stepping on my toes.

She stopped and apologized before lifting her gaze. I could hear her thoughts appraising me. She swiftly judged me a gentleman both from my dress and the pale skin of my hands. She thought it marked me as wealthy enough not to work outdoors, not recognizing the real meaning of my coloring. As her eyes reached my face, her mouth dropped open and in a split second she instinctively reacted, her heart speeding and her eyes dilating. Physical attraction.

But in that same split second she saw the murderous glare reflected in my gaze. Her slight smile fell completely and she mumbled through another apology, her voice thick with unshed tears.

It was horrible, hearing all these things go through her mind as they happened. It was bad enough warring with my own desires and blood rushed to color her face in embarrassment, but seeing my eyes reflected back at me in her thoughts was worse. I looked like the devil himself. Handsome and dangerous and absolutely hateful.

Listening to her wonder why I looked so down upon her was awful. She chastised herself for being so clumsy as to nearly run into me and offend me so that I would look at her that way. And worse still were her chastisements for herself for being so upset by my reaction. A human part of me longed to tell her that it was all right, that she hadn't offended me, only startled me, and that between us two, I should be the one asking forgiveness and chastising myself, but I didn't trust myself to turn back to her retreating figure.

_Are you alright then, Edward?_ Carlisle was watching me in his periphery.

"I'm fine. I just wish I hadn't...looked at her like that. She thinks she terribly offended me, and she can't understand why that upsets her so."

_It is our nature. Her body reacted on instinct. Our presence is always unsettling for them at first. It's evolutionary. _

I bowed my head, feeling guilt over the poor girl, only glad that at least she survived the encounter.

_Edward._

I turned to see Carlisle grinning at me.

_Just work on the glare and you'll be fine._

*********

**There you have it, a second chapter. One note:**

*_In bocca chiuse_ is part of an Italian proverb. The full proverb is "In bocca chiuse, non entrano mosche," which fairly literally means "into a closed mouth, no flies enter," or more eloquently, "a closed mouth gathers no flies." The meaning is basically that it's often more beneficial to say nothing, than speak rashly. As to why I've used it, I firmly believe Carlisle would have picked up plenty of Italian, and why the hell not, right? Plus, I started college as an Italian minor, so I'll pretty much take any opportunity I can get.

**What do you think of Edward's first human encounter? Did you think it would have taken him more time to reign in the newborn bloodlust? Less time? Exactly this amount of time? I had fun writing about his thoughts here. I think he's an interesting headspace to write from.**

**Anyway, PLEASE pleasepleaseplease take a minute to review. Chapter 1 was read plenty of times between FF and Twilighted, but only got 4 reviews, and I'm sad about that. Just tell me what you thought, even if you think this is crap or want to tell me I'm not strictly within canon somewhere. Are there are moments you really want to see? This is all I have actually written, so now I can pretty much go any direction. Obviously I'm not opposed to skipping over parts that bore me. I'm considering writing about Esme's change next and eventually Rose's, as well as the encounter with Ephraim Black, and some portion of Edward's rebellious, non-veggie years. Are you interested in that? What about the Denali years? What did Edward mean by turning Tanya down like a gentleman? I think he has a tendency to understate, don't you? *smirk***

**Have nothing to say about the chapter? Hit review anyway and tell me; what's a book you never expected to like, but really ended up enjoying?**


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